Page 47 of Hunting His Vampire Mate

Hey, is everything going okay in there?

Michael’s sudden mental voice caused me to flinch. He must’ve sensed… what, exactly? The sudden greedy desire I felt? The knife-sharp edge of need that I hadn’t even realized I possessed? The belated pain rising in my body, driving me to do anything—anything at all—to put a stop to it?

Everything is fine,I replied, focusing on him as I spoke the silent words. But I felt a sudden wariness steal through me. Michael had direct access to my innermost thoughts. It was easy enough to see all the ways that might go south in a hurry.

The worry distracted me enough that it took me several long moments to realize that Thierry had never replied to me. When the silence stretched between us for much longer than it shouldhave, I raised my gaze to find him staring at me with a guileless sort of wide-eyed open-mouthed shock. Then he blinked rapidly, and his expression darkened.

“You fed on him,” Thierry said flatly. “And how, exactly, did he stop you, once you got started?”

“He didn’t. I did. I was afraid I might hurt him.”

“Impossible. Almost as unlikely as the fact that you’re able to stand being in the same room as him. The pain must be excruciating. Are you some sort of masochist?”

“It doesn’t—I don’t feel—”

I grimaced and broke off. I wanted to say that the pain wasn’t there, but that wouldn’t have been true. I had no idea how I had been able to ignore it for most of the evening, but the pain was definitely making its reappearance—with interest.

A cramp that felt like getting whacked in the stomach with a softball—made of red-hot razor blades—almost doubled me over. And I sucked in a sharp inhalation, my eyes abruptly watering.

I had thought I knew what pain was before that moment. But it turned out, I had no idea. I had never experienced pain before. Not really.

Danny, are you okay?I could feel the alarm pouring through the bond. Somehow, I knew that Michael shot to his feet, even though he was still in the living room, where I couldn’t see him.Goddamn it, Danny, answer me!

But I couldn’t. Because, right then, another flash of pain tore through me. I fell to my knees. The world went hazy and red around the edges. And the answer to the pain was right there, in my hands.

I looked down at the blood bag and then—

I wasn’t quite sure what happened next. I didn’t exactly black out, but something animalistic took me over. And Danny wasn’t the guy driving the bus anymore.

I tore into the thick plastic of the bag with my teeth, which were abruptly fangs, even though I didn’t remember deciding to feed. And the blood was cold, but I had been suffocating and it was a gulp of fresh air. And then I could breathe again. My throat had been doused in flames and this was cold, clean water, putting out the fire. The burning stopped. The pain immediately gave way to raw, primal pleasure, but even that didn’t give me a chance to think.

Dimly, I was aware that I was making a mess. The blood dripped down my chin. My face was smeared with it. I didn’t care. I couldn’t even focus on the bond between Michael and I. The urge tofeed, toconsume,had blotted everything else out.

I finished the blood bag. Then I rounded on Thierry.

Or, no.

Not Thierry. The other vampire was merely my competition. Unimportant, unless he stopped me. My gaze zeroed in on the cooler he’d pulled the blood bag from.

“There he is,” Thierry whispered, staring at me. But he didn’t seem surprised. Just grim. “I was beginning to wonder.”

I dismissed it immediately. His words didn’t matter. Whatever he thought didn’t interest me.

But did he have more? That question did interest me. Because the burn in my throat demanded more. The pain in my midsection—deep in the core of me—demanded more.

Would he stop me?

If he tried, I would tear him limb from limb. I would rip him apart.

I needed more.

I didn’t decide to move. I simply did. I practically threw myself onto the cooler, spilling the blood bags onto the counter. There were easily a dozen of them. So much of the stuff I needed, right there for the taking.

I seized one, falling to my knees again. It was too cold. Much too cold.

But I bit into it anyway. My fangs punctured the thick plastic, tearing through it easily. And then I drank.

More blood, soothing the burn. Pouring down my chin. Smearing my mouth. My face. It didn’t matter.

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